2. Miles
Last Years’ Champion Kodiaks a “One-Hit Wonder”? Hoops News Has the Scoop
“Come on, man. We’re late. Coach is going to have your ass,” I say.
Waffles whines up at me from the pavement, his big, dark eyes taking over his tiny, squished face.
“We agreed to this. We shook on it. Now you’re acting like it never happened?”
I”m already behind, as the buzzing alert on my phone has let me know twice.
French Bulldogs are equal parts muscle and cute. I tug the leash and he braces against me, shifting his ass as if he can glue it to the pavement.
Thirty-pound professional napper vs two-twenty pro athlete.
It”s obvious to everyone but Waffles which way this is going to go.
”Don”t make me do it,” I warn.
I adjust my bag across my shoulder and scoop the Frenchie into my arms. In the three years I”ve had him, he still doesn”t love me picking him up. His whimper reminds me his life is balls as I walk with him toward the doors.
”Miles!” a female voice calls from behind me.
I turn to see three twenty-something women waving and smiling.
“Great game against Boston the other night,” a blonde woman says, making her way toward me.
I nod since both my hands are full. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”
We got a win, and my shooting line was impeccable.
”I’m a huge fan. Can I get a picture?” she stops in front of me, breathless.
Posing with fans is something I have no problem with. I get that some athletes prefer their privacy, but they’re in the wrong business. Being available to take a picture is the least I can do for all the time and money they spend to cheer us on.
“What a cute dog.”
Waffles makes a little grunt in his throat, and I shoot him a look before shifting him to my other side away from her.
She presses as close as possible to take the selfie.
”Right. Well, it was nice to meet you. I’ll see you around?” Her smile is hopeful, like she wants me to ask for her number.
“You got it,” I reply easily. Not because I think I’ll see her, but because it’s the best thing to say to fans.
I have a healthy confidence—some might say cockiness—but it still throws me how much interest I get from women. The dark hair and the straight teeth courtesy of braces always did me right, but since we won, it’s like I look too long and panties drop.
Most days, I’m into it.
I’m the guy you have fun with for a night, a week, a summer. I can put a smile on anyone’s face, and when it comes to women, I’ll give them a memory they can look back on fondly.
I’m not looking for a deep connection.
Except since we became world champs, the number of people who want something from me has grown exponentially.
I dropped math first year of college, so I’m not sure how many that is, but it’s a lot.
“That Hoops News article is BS!” she calls after me.
I frown as I adjust the dog in my arms. “Nice to meet you too,” I reply even though I didn’t get her name.
I’m a professional basketball player. Been wanting to be one since I was old enough to score my first basket.
It’s a dream job.
It’s also a roller coaster. I live for the highs, try not to let the lows drag me down, because the highs are really fucking high.
Winning championships. Making millions. Fans everywhere I go.
The lows?
I promised myself I wouldn’t think about those anymore.
I check my phone for a response to the message I sent first thing this morning.
Miles: Haven’t talked in a couple days. All good?
Miles: Gonna stop by after practice if I don’t hear back.
Concern edges into my gut.
”What”s the little dude doing here?” Rookie is lacing up his sneakers when I get to the court and set down my gear bag, open at the top with my dog inside.
“Been in a funk for the past week. Figured he”d be better here where I can keep an eye on him than at home.He”ll be quiet,” I tell our coach, who narrows his eyes before nodding toward the banner hanging from the rafters.
Denver Kodiaks.
World Champions.
We got the banner for the first game of this season, and it’s like a god watching over us. The kind that looks out for us but has expectations too.
“Put that shit away,” Clay says to our point guard Jay, who’s looking at his phone.
“What?” I ask.
“This Hoops News article,” Jay grumbles. “Saying we were lucky last year, not good.”
As our leader, Jay’s pissed. It’s my job to take the edge off.
I clap a hand on his shoulder. “No one wins a world championship on luck, but having a little doesn’t hurt.”
”You know the hardest thing in this league?” Coach asks after calling the team to order. “Not winning a championship, winning a second one.”
“Winning the first one wasn’t the easiest either,” Rookie says under his breath.
“Damn straight, Rookie,” one of our bench guys says.
“You can’t keep calling me that.”
“Sure we can. Technically, you’re still on your rookie contract, right? Just second-year,” Darius, the backup point guard we picked up in the off-season, points out.
Rookie frowns. “Stay out of it, new guy. Want me to call you ‘new guy’ all year?”
“If you want?—”
Jay clears his throat, ignoring the others. ”The first three games of the season showed us we’re stronger than ever.”
”Strong?” Heads turn back to Coach. “We stole the win from LA, and we got out of Boston thanks to a few calls that went our way.”
Tension rolls through the room.
”Where”s Atlas?” I”m looking around. Our center was injured in a hard hit the first game of the season, but he was supposed to be back today.
Coach huffs out a breath. ”He’s day to day.”
Normally, we’re a loud bunch. There’s a lot of laughing, teasing, calling each other out on our bullshit.
Now silence falls over us.
“Meaning…?” Jay asks.
“Meaning we’re a man down for a game or two.”
A gloom descends over the gym.
It’s true that this year there’s a target on our backs. If what happened to Atlas is any indication, no one in either conference is pulling any punches.
“It’s a couple of games. We’ll hold the fort,” I say with confidence.
I’m a role player, the guy who can slot in anywhere. I love the game almost as much as I love getting to joke and catch up with my guys from around the league.
I keep us level when the world tries to rip us off our axis.
The higher you fly, the more important that is.
My phone buzzes in my bag.
The name on the screen coupled with the message have me intrigued instantly.
Brooke: I need your dog.
Most girls show up in my phone to ask me out or send me naked pics. Not this one.
Miles: You want to cast him in a production, you have to go through his talent agent.
Brooke: He goes with my costume for the party, and I intend to win.
“You put her up to this?” I ask Waffles.
He cocks his head, his dark eyes becoming hypnotic pools of cuteness overload.
Brooke’s not so much a woman as a force of nature. She’s brave and bold and unapologetic, which lands her in hot water—or yesterday, cold water.
I’d never tell her how much I enjoyed carrying her out of the pond, because she’d cut off my balls and nail them to her door like jingle bells.
I would’ve driven most girls home after what happened because it was the right thing to do, but this wasn’t just any girl—it was Brooke.
Brooke, who’d show up for a backyard BBQ in head-to-toe Fendi carrying a bag of hot dog buns.
Who makes fun of my practical jokes but can come up with a mean prank herself.
Who’ll stomp her spiked heels and tell off any of the guys as though she’s one of them.
Who’d probably die before sliding into my DMs with a naked pic.
Not that I wouldn’t take a long look if she did.
From the gangly freshman I met back when Jay and I were still playing college ball, she’s grown up to be a damned smoke show.
But she’s sister to the guy who’s my teammate, my friend. She’s so far off-limits she might as well live on the moon.
I’m definitely not still thinking about how it felt to have her over my shoulder, my palm across the back of her thighs.
Jay asks, ”What”re you going to the party as? There”s an epic prize.” He grins. ”Brooke”s been working on her costume for weeks.”
The guys keep talking costumes, but I’m curious. I type out a text.
Miles: Tell me the concept. Waffles’s management needs to approve it.
Brooke: Tell Waffles’s management it’s top secret.
Miles: Then he gets half the prize winnings.
Brooke: Twenty-five percent.
Miles: Should be an even partnership.
Brooke: Not when he doesn’t have to wear heels.
I chuckle and tuck the phone away.
She’s always been more than other girls, even in college.
Funnier.
Braver.
More caring.
In another world, Brooke and I would make a hell of a team.
Rescuing her was even worth getting chewed out by Aliya on voicemail for bailing. I had my assistant send her flowers as an apology, but I’m regretting it because she’s texted me half a dozen times since.
The first time we hung out, we agreed neither of us was looking for serious, but it’s starting to feel as if she wants more than I have to give. I don’t tell women I’m unavailable to play hard to get or because I want to be noncommittal.
It’s because the only long-lasting relationships I have are with my guys and my dog. I’m protective as hell about the people I choose, and I don’t let just anyone in.
When I tune back in, Jay’s scrubbing a towel across his face. ”You think I can”t organize a costume party?”
“You totally hired it out,” Rookie tosses.
I brighten at that piece of information. “Least we know it’s going to be good.”
“Come on.” Jay looks hurt.
“You couldn’t choose the signature drink,” Clay says.
Jay stares at him, his eyes cool and his face unreadable. ”Just for that, I”m awarding you a penalty.”
”The hell kind of costume contest has penalties?!” I demand.
”The kind I came up with.”
My phone dings with a notification. I glance down, hoping it’s the person I’m still waiting to hear from after an entire day.
Instead, it’s Aliya saying next time she wants different flowers.
I silence the phone.
“Well, you heard Coach.” I hook an elbow around Jay’s neck and the other around Clay. “Only thing harder than winning once is running it back. Better get to work.”
These guys are my family. Whether we’re winning or not, that won’t change.
It can’t.